A Rock Hard Place
by Slightly Obsessed
Summary: Lizzie wants a bra and Gordo's imagination is thrust into overdrive. An alternate storyline for the Between a Rock and a Bra Place episode. Look out! Double Bubble Blueberry Trouble ahead! One Shot LG. Enjoy!


_Hi! I'm back! This was just too much fun. My next one will be much more serious, and much longer, but please enjoy this one shot of Lizzie Gordo silliness! --- __Obsessed _

_PS - I own a pair of Birkenstocks, a large-screen TV, and fifteen packages of Creamy Chicken Ramen Noodles. That's all.  
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"I want…A BRA! Okay? A bra! A bra! We…want…a bra! I want a bra!"

The words echo in my ears. They shake the entire house. Has Lizzie McGuire, my friend of thirteen years, whom I have known longer than anyone else on this earth except for my parents, just screamed that she wants a bra?

Lizzie in a bra….

My mouth is hanging open, stupidly, but my mind is racing with images I cannot stop. Okay, this isn't the first time I've had these images. They just usually don't occur in the middle of Lizzie's kitchen with her entire family standing around. I feel queasy.

And then Matt, Lizzie's little brother, proclaims, "Ewww! That's disgusting!"

I feel queasy, but not because it's disgusting. The idea of Lizzie's budding breasts in a silky little bra is anything but disgusting. That image is positively beautiful…stimulating….arousing. It's the arousing part, right here in the middle of the McGuire kitchen, that makes me queasy. I turn my body towards the cabinets.

For some reason, Miranda is crying. I think Miranda wants a bra too. Is that why she's crying? I don't get it. I don't get a lot of things about girls, and I guess this is one of them. Maybe it's just that Miranda is as embarrassed about this whole thing as I am.

So, Miranda wants a bra too. Okay, I've had that image in my mind also, on occasion, I admit. But that image hasn't had the… uh….staying power that comes from thinking about Lizzie in a bra. Or thinking about Lizzie… in anything…

Or nothing.

Okay, okay. I'm thirteen, almost fourteen. I'm a guy. I'm normal. So sue me.

Lizzie's dad is talking now. "A bra?" he says. "Isn't she kind of young for that?"

Lizzie's dad is kind of clueless sometimes. Either he's clueless, or he's blind, or he just doesn't look at his daughter the same way I do. Well, that's a good thing, I guess. It wouldn't be right if he looked at his daughter the same way that I do.

Now Mrs. McGuire is fluttering and fussing over the girls and I suddenly realize that this trip to the mall I've been invited to is not the trip I thought it was going to be. We're not going for school supplies. This is going to be all about _bra shopping. _

"Mrs. McGuire," I say uneasily, "suddenly I don't want to go to the mall with you guys anymore."

Mrs. McGuire gives me her best mom smile and says "That's okay. You're uninvited."

Now I have to get out of here, and fast. Miranda, Lizzie and her mom have left the room and I am there with Matt and Mr. McGuire. Okay, now it's easier to bow out. I have to get home. I can't be walking around in public like this, my body betraying me once again.

"Well…" Mr. McGuire says, walking over towards me, striving for a casual attitude, "how about those…uh….Mets? Huh….guys?"

"I don't care," Matt says. "I'm just glad we don't have to talk about _bras _anymore."

"I…I have to go home and do something…" I announce, absently. "Anything ….anything but this."

"Uh, Gordo," Mr. McGuire says suddenly, "maybe you could stick around and help us with Matt's contest entry."

"Yeah," Matt says. "I'm Jet Li's sidekick in his next movie."

As usual, I have no idea what Matt is talking about. That Matt is one crazy kid, he's always got something going on. I guess if I could manage to concentrate, I might know what he's talking about. If I could at least collect my thoughts enough to ask a coherent question, I might find out what he's talking about, and then this afternoon could turn out very differently than it does.

But my thoughts are scattered, unable to be collected. There are thoughts of Lizzie first in a white lacy bra, now in a pink pushup, or how about blue to match the tight top she's wearing today? Wait! Black! Lizzie in a tight black satin bra, her nipples pushing hard against the shiny---

"I…uh…have to go home and do something…." I repeat frantically, and my feet are leading me back towards the front door.

Out on the sidewalk, in front of Lizzie's house, I begin to feel like I can breathe again. Each time I put one foot in front of the other, I feel all the blood in my body redistributing itself. Damn this physiological reaction to mental stimulation! And damn Lizzie McGuire for beginning to grow breasts at exactly the same time that I cannot keep myself from being totally obsessed with them! Everywhere I go these days, that's all I see, popping out from every magazine cover, peeking out from sweaters and halter tops. Vee necklines, those are my favorites, deep vee necklines, revealing cleavage…

Don't you just love that word? Cleavage. My body shakes. What could be better than cleavage? Except maybe…_nipples…_

My body shakes again. Lizzie has been wearing this blue top all day, with kind of…birds, or something, all over it. I don't remember exactly. All I know for sure is that it's tight, tight enough to show her nice budding breasts underneath, and on occasion, like when she walked into science class earlier today, her nipples have been…have been just so….well, they were _there,_ they were _out_ there, they were so clearly visible to anyone who might be inclined to look.

Okay, I'm a smart kid. I know that. Everybody knows that. And I've never been shallow. Lizzie means more to me than a pair of perky nipples. She's my friend, right? Always has been, always will be. So it's not right, is it, for me to be having these thoughts about her nipples, about how I would like to…

Damn! I keep walking, my feet pounding the pavement, harder and harder. Maybe it's a good thing, I think, that Lizzie's mom is taking her shopping for a bra. That's what she needs, something to keep those babies under control, keep them hidden from all these budding sex maniacs.

Like me.

I hear a beep behind me on the road and nearly jump out of my skin. Looking up, I see Lizzie's family van passing by me on the street, Mrs. McGuire's hand waving from the driver's window. Good. They are on their way to the mall to buy bras. And I have to go home to do something…anything…

But I really have nothing to do at home. My mom and dad are both at work, doing the psychiatrist thing, helping poor troubled souls like myself overcome their neurosis, their fixations, their debilitating obsessions. Maybe I should talk to my mom or dad about this. Ha! Like that would ever happen. At least if I had a friend who was a guy, maybe I could talk to him, find out if the way I feel is normal, acceptable. But no, both of my best friends happen to be girls. So I guess right there I'm not normal, am I? The only friends I feel comfortable enough with to discuss my problems are the two girls who are causing the problems in the first place.

I guess I'm doomed.

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I meant to go home, but now I see that somehow I have walked right past my house, and I am still walking. Where am I going? Not sure. My feet are just leading me. It feels good to walk, to walk and think, and so I keep walking.

Things are changing for me and Lizzie. I've been feeling it more and more lately. I don't think of her as a kid so much anymore, I think of her more as a girl. And of course, that's not always a good thing. Sometimes I think I don't want her to be just my friend anymore. I want to take her out somewhere, like on a date, and I want to hold her hand, and kiss her, and then I think about how I'd like to touch her…

See? I'm doing it again. It's getting really hard to think about continuing to be just friends with Lizzie when I'm having all these feelings about her, all these images, all these fantasies. Yeah, it's hard. It's really hard.

I keep walking. I'm walking and smirking, feeling how really hard it is. It's like that saying I've often heard. "Between an rock and a hard place." That's me. I'm between a rock and hard place. What am I going to do about Lizzie? I can't do everything I want to do. I don't think she'd allow that, and she'd probably hate me for it, for coming on to her so strong. She'd probably think I was trying to take advantage of her. I don't want to lose her friendship, yet I don't see how we can go on being "just friends" for too much longer.

I'm between a rock and a hard place. Yep…I'm in a rock hard place.

Somehow, my feet have taken me to the mall. It's a half hour walk from Lizzie's house to the mall, and I've done it, without even realizing it. I look up and there it is. The Mall. And I know Lizzie is in there somewhere, with her mom and Miranda, and they are buying bras.

When I was a kid, I remember the first time I saw women wearing bras, it was in a Sears sales paper that had come to the house. I specifically remember one picture, a blonde, amply endowed, wearing a plain white bra that was trimmed with tiny strawberries on the straps and along the edges. I remember this, because I happen to love strawberries, and even as a kid of six or seven, I wanted to eat those strawberries right off that bra.

I wonder if Lizzie is in Sears, buying a bra. I wonder if Sears still has that strawberry bra. I can see Lizzie in that strawberry bra. I can see myself licking all those little strawberries and pulling them off with my teeth….

Enough! I trudge around to the other side of the mall, away from Sears, and over to the Food Court. It's been a long walk, I'm feeling a bit thirsty, I should go in and get a drink. Then I'll go home. By that time I should be so exhausted from all this walking, and Mom and Dad should be home, and I'll eat dinner, and go to bed, and I won't have to think about bras any more tonight.

There are so many people in the mall. One thing you can say about the mall, there are always so many beautiful girls here. And girls with big breasts, not little tiny breasts like Lizzie's. Like that girl over there. She must be in high school, maybe even junior collge. And look what she's wearing! Does her mother know she's wearing that in public? Does her mother know she's inviting every oversexed teenage boy to imagine himself pushing down those thin spaghetti straps (That's what Lizzie told me they are called, spaghetti straps) and rubbing her bare shoulders until his hands are irresistibly drawn to the tight pull of soft material across her chest, where----

No, I tell myself. I'm not going to go there. I can't go there. I don't know anything about that girl. And I don't want her. Not really. But I do want Lizzie….

"Gordo!"

I turn and look around. Who has called my name?

"Mrs. McGuire?" I question, walking towards Lizzie's mom, sitting at a table in the middle of the Food Court.

"Hi, Gordo! What are you doing here? If you needed to come to the mall, you should have said something! I would have driven you."

"No, no, I…I don't need to be here. Somehow I just….am. But why are you here? And where is Lizzie? And Miranda."

Mrs. McGuire sighs heartily and looks into her cup of coffee. "Lizzie's growing up," she says sadly.

"Yeah…I know," I agree.

"And she doesn't need me anymore---"

"That's not true!" I object. I know plenty of things about Lizzie, and one thing I know for sure is that she still needs her mom, for lots of stuff. She also needs Mr. Snuggles, but that's another story altogether.

"No, no," Mrs. McGuire objects, sadly. "She doesn't need me. She and Miranda are little adults now. They're in J.C. Penney's, buying bras all by themselves. They don't need me. They're all grown up. That's the way it goes. One day you wake up and your kids just don't need you anymore…"

"I…uh…" I stutter, feeling almost as awkward now as I did early this afternoon, hearing Lizzie scream "I want a bra!" I have no idea what to say to Mrs. McGuire, so I just stumble over. "I…you know…well…"

But, "She's just too big for her britches," Mrs. McGuire adds suddenly, changing her tone. "Do you know what that means, Gordo?"

"Yeah, I…"

"She thinks she knows it all," Mrs. McGuire goes on. "She was actually quite rude to me. Did I really raise such a rude and unappreciative child?"

"No!" I insist. "I'm sure---"

"It's you teenagers!" Mrs. McGuire continues vehemently. "You get to this age, and everything starts changing, hormomes kick in, and suddenly you're all too big for your britches!"

I feel somewhat dumbfounded. What is she talking about? Does she mean _me_? And this 'too big for their britches' allusion she keeps making….she didn't see….? She doesn't know….?"

"I have to go," I say suddenly, feeling more embarrassed than I have all day. Lizzie's mom _cannot_ know what is happening with me. Oh God! She would never let me in their house again if she did. Best to escape quickly and pretend this conversation never took place.

I walk as far away from Mrs. McGuire as I can get, and that brings me to the Dairy Freeze. This is my favorite place in the whole mall, mostly because they have excellent milkshakes, but also because once when I was here, I saw two girls walking away from the counter sipping their milkshakes, and I heard one say to the other, "Don't you just love these freezy drinks? Don't they just make your nipples get all hard?"

Now I don't know enough about females to know whether or not freezy drinks actually make their nipples hard, but the idea that this might happen is now firmly planted in my brain, and there'll be no shaking it out. When I come to the mall with Lizzie and Miranda now, I always try to get them to order something from Dairy Freeze, and then I spend the whole time in the Food Court glancing at their nipples.

Well, yeah, now that I think about it, I guess my powers of observation confirm that milkshakes do indeed cause hard nipples. Though that might not be entirely accurate. It doesn't happen to Miranda so much, but then Miranda is always so busy glancing around for cute boys, that she doesn't realize I'm looking at her. And actually, I'm mostly looking at Lizzie, and I think Lizzie pretty much realizes I'm looking at her, because once or twice she's caught me looking, and then she blushes and looks away, and then it seems her nipples get even harder. So maybe her nipples are only getting hard because she knows I'm looking at them.

Hmmm. Could it be…?

I'm standing in front of the Dairy Freeze, trying to make my selection, but once again my thoughts are clouded by images of Lizzie's hard, round, little breasts. The line clears out in front of me and suddenly the pimply- faced boy behind the counter is reciting in a dull voice, "Welcome to Dairy Freeze. Would you like to try our latest sensation, the Double Trouble Blueberry Bubble?"

"Huh?" I say, snapping back to reality.

Pimple Face sighs heartily, then points to a display. "It's a heaping helping of fresh blueberry goodness, endowed with a super shot of sugar and caffeine," he continues in his monotone. "Thus, the name: Double Trouble."

"Caffeine?" I question. "How do you get caffeine into blueberries?"

The kid shakes his head, now thoroughly annoyed with me. "I don't know," he scowls. "It's in the powder or something. There's this powder mix we put in it."

"It doesn't taste like coffee, does it?"

"No," Pimple Face says heavily, as if I am the biggest moron on the planet. "It tastes like blueberries. Do you want it or not?"

Do I want it? "Sure," I say. I've always wanted this, but whenever I'm at the mall with Lizzie, she won't let me get it. I can't remember why, but suddenly it strikes me that she is, indeed, too big for her britches, upsetting her mom, and bossing me around, telling me I can't have the Double Trouble Blueberry Bubble.

Well, screw Lizzie McGuire! Screw her and her perky little breasts! I'm doing what I want from now on! And I'm not letting her drag me all over town like her little hormone puppy on a leash. I'm taking back my mind, and I'm taking back my life! And I'm going to celebrate my independence by ordering the Double Trouble Blueberry Bubble…size _LARGE!_

All right, that's all very good saying screw Lizzie McGuire and her perky little breasts, but the moment I fork over my $4.85 and take the Double Trouble into my hands, it occurs to me that the plastic "bubble" top, which is filled to capacity with a brilliant blue slushy substance, reminds me of nothing more than of Lizzie's perky round breasts in the tight blue top she's been wearing today. And the fact that I am now sucking away like crazy at this blue bubble is making my own nipples hard, as well as another body part that has lately caused me a lot more trouble than any amount of blueberries possibly could.

So here I am, walking in the mall, sucking my blueberry bubble, feeling the icy cold of it refreshing my mouth all the way down my throat, and thinking once again of Lizzie's blueberry breasts.

No, that's not right, her breasts are not blueberries. They're strawberries, right? And her nipples are cherries, and I'm going to eat them. Her nipples are cherries with whipped cream on top, and I'm going to lick up all that whipped cream and eat those cherries…

Somewhere in the back of my mind I know that I'm not thinking straight, that my thoughts are getting crazy, but I figure as long as I know they're crazy, I'm okay. I'm getting a bit of a brain freeze. I walk a little further, sucking at my drink, and suddenly I feel myself lifted to another level. That must be the caffeine kicking in. Damn! This stuff is good. I'm feeling good! Oddly, I don't even mind anymore that I'm walking around in the mall with a big old hard-on inside my baggy pants. Nobody can see it, nobody is looking at me. I should just enjoy the hell out of myself, sucking down this blueberry stuff and thinking about Lizzie, the girl of my dreams.

And oh, I have dreamed of her! How many times? Too many to count. That was how I first knew something was happening, that my feelings towards Lizzie were changing. I'm much too uptight to admit something like this in my conscious life. I had to have my subconscious clue me in, providing me with this most incredibly vivid and intense dream.

I'm thinking of this dream, remembering it, reveling in the memory of it, and now I find my body once again is betraying me. No, it's not what you think. Once again, it's my feet. While my mind has been otherwise occupied with the memory of this dream, my feet have led me all the way into Penney's, up the escalator, and into the women's lingerie department.

I am standing in front of a rack of bras, grinning like mad as I continue to suck down the blueberry slush, and now I'm looking at Miranda and Lizzie, frantically pushing bras from one side to another. They don't see me, so I just keep sucking and smiling and looking at them.

"So what are we looking for?" Miranda asks.

"I don't know!" Lizzie snaps. "I thought you knew!"

"I thought I did, too!" Miranda exclaims. "But there's all these numbers and letters! 32's, 34's, 36…A's, B's, C's!"

Lizzie makes a scoffing noise. "I mean Kate owns one, right? How hard can it be?"

"Not hard at all," I suddenly hear myself say. And then I chuckle a little as I feel a pulsation within my pants and realize the irony of my statement.

Lizzie and Miranda look up at me at the same moment, gasping in unison.

"Gordo!" Lizzie exclaims. "What are you doing here? You can't be here!"

"And yet I am here," I say evenly, but trying so hard to keep this ridiculous grin off my face. "And not a moment too soon, I might add. It looks like you ladies need some help."

"Gordo, get lost!" Miranda demands. "You shouldn't be here!"

"You know," I say boldly. "I am so tired of everyone telling me what I should and shouldn't be doing. Do you want my help or not?"

"No," Miranda pronounces heavily, glaring at me. "I told you, Gordo. Get lost."

"And I told you I am not going to get lost. Maybe you should get lost, Miranda. Maybe Lizzie wants my help. And you won't be any help at all, hanging around here with such a negative attitude."

I don't know what has gotten into me. It must be the caffeine. I'm feeling kind of lightheaded.

Miranda is suddenly in front of me, wagging her finger. "Listen, Gordo, you have no right whatsoever to---"

"Guys! Guys!" Lizzie exclaims from behind us. "Stop it! Would you just stop it! This is aggravating enough without the two of you fighting! I can't take this!"

I glance at Lizzie. It looks like she is about to crack.

"Lizzie---" I begin.

But she interrupts me with "Miranda, you know how we said that as long as we're at the mall we ought to pick up some cool jeans to try on? Why don't you go find a few pairs? I'll take care of Gordo."

Miranda glares at me once last time, then huffs off. At last Lizzie and I are alone.

I take a step towards her, my head spinning. "Lizzie, I---"

"Gordo," she says plaintively. "Do you really know anything about this? I mean, I don't see how you would, but if you do….Miranda and I are a little lost. I wouldn't mind some…uh…pointers, if you've got any."

At her word "pointers" I once again feel the pulsation, and this time a pointing also, my own little hormone doggie, anxiously panting for Lizzie to lead him around on a leash.

"Well, I…you know…" I begin, taking a deep breath. "I…uh….I've seen things on the internet, and I think I know what all these numbers and letters mean. It's very easy actually. Do you want me to show you?"

"Show me?" Lizzie questions suspiciously.

"Well, it won't really do much good to just tell you about it. You do want to know what size you should buy, right?"

"Of course," Lizzie agrees.

"Okay then, it's easy," I say, putting down my half-finished Double Trouble Blueberry Bubble on top of a display of garter belts. "We start with the numbers. That means how many inches are you around, right underneath your…uh….under your…"

"My what?" Lizzie asks.

I walk over to her. Wow. My head is spinning pretty good by this time. I take another really deep breath. "Turn around," I say, and she does.

Now I'm standing directly behind Lizzie. I can feel my heart pounding, I can feel my hormone doggie reaching out, wanting to nuzzle himself against the back of Lizzie's pants. She wearing these crazy pants, some kind of pattern all over the soft material, and the colors and shapes are twirling around in my mind. A guy could get lost in all those crazy colors and shapes.

"Lift your arms," I say, and Lizzie does, and I get this tremendous rush as I wonder if she will do anything I tell her to do.

I pull in a little closer to Lizzie and reach my arms around her. "Right here, right underneath your…uh, breasts, on the ribcage, this is where you take the number measurement. You have to find out how many inches…around…."

And I wrap my arms around Lizzie and feel myself melting faster than that blueberry slushy I've been sloshing down. I hear Lizzie give a little "Oooh!" and then she says, "But how can you measure, Gordo, if you don't have a measuring tape?"

"That's right." I realize. "I don't have a measuring tape. Well, I guess I'll just have to estimate. I know how long my arms are, so let me just…you know…feel what this feels like, and think about it, and make a ….a good guess…"

I close my eyes, my arms wrapped around Lizzie, and momentarily go to Heaven. No, I am not measuring her. I don't need to measure her. I already know exactly what size she is. In school, walking around the halls, I sometimes hear girls talking about what size bras they wear. It's funny how a guy's ears will perk right up when he hears a thirty-something number immediately followed by A, B, C or D. It's almost instinctive, I think.

Anyway, I've been squirreling away the bra sizes of different girls in school ---Kate Sanders, 34C, Jenny Woods, 30A, even Mrs. Novak, the art teacher, 38D (but please don't ask me how I know that). Then, after spending many hours using my scientific powers of observation, comparison and deduction, I have long ago determined that Lizzie is a 32A.

So now, eyes closed, deep breath, pressing against Lizzie, I pause, enjoying the moment as she patiently waits for my expert revelation. I allow myself to melt into her a moment more, then I announce, "You're a 32. I would bet my life on it."

Lizzie giggles. "Amazing!" she announces. "Thanks, Gordo!"

She tries to turn around, but I don't let her go. "Wait a minute. We're not done yet. We have to figure out your…your…what the letter is."

"What is that letter all about anyway?" Lizzie asks.

"It means your…well, they call it your 'cup' size. It means…. It means….how big…."

Here she gasps again. I feel like I might lose her at this point, so I say quickly, "You have to know that, Lizzie. You have to know the right size to buy, or it's not going to fit right, it's going to be all bunchy and uncomfortable, and not attractive, and you don't want that, do you, Lizzie?"

"No! Of course not!"

"Then let me…you have to let me measure you for your…your cup size."

"Gordo," she says hesitantly, "I don't know if….if that's such a good idea…"

"Why not?" I say, taking yet another deep breath to steady my spiraling brain. I pull my arms tighter around Lizzie and continue, "You have to know, and it won't take long---"

"But…but this doesn't really look right, does it? I mean, for us to be doing this…right here?"

"Nobody is watching us." That is quite true. We are all alone at the moment, a fact well appreciated by every part of my body. I lean closer to Lizzie, close my eyes and whisper in her ear, "Let me do this for you, Lizzie. Let me…help you…."

But who is helping _who_? I know I'm kidding anyone, not Lizzie, not even myself.

But amazingly I hear her whisper back, "Okay…okay, Gordo. Do what you have to do…."

I wonder if she can hear my quiet moaning in her ear. Permission to touch Lizzie, to touch her wonderful hard little breasts….

I pull myself in closer and now I know she can feel the swelling in my pants pressing against her backside, because once again I hear that quick gasp from her, and then nothing, nothing but her rapid, irregular breaths as she stands still, arms spread wide at her sides, succumbing to my "measuring" procedures. I cup her breasts in my hands, moving my palms top to bottom, repeatedly, testing out the small slope. I can't resist running my fingertips over the protusion of her nipples, which seem to be getting harder even as we stand here together like this, with nobody watching us, and nobody to stop me.

And Lizzie contines to let me touch her, and I am getting the sense that she knows as much as I do that this is not about measuring her breasts and is all about copping a feel, enjoying the hardness of her body, even as I think she must be enjoying the hardness of mine. I moan again, and I hear her gasp again, and I am wondering how far this could go, whether or I dare to move my hands and "measure" the other parts of her body that my body is suddenly craving so badly….

And then, there is Miranda, returning with a couple of pairs of blue jeans over her arm, exclaiming, "What the----!"

Lizzie and I break apart, and I look at Miranda, flustered, and say, "I was…uh….measuring…Lizzie. I…uh---"

"Yeah!" Lizzie agrees energetically. "Gordo's been very…very, uh, helpful! I know what size I am now. I know I'm a….a…."

"A!" I all but shout. "You're an A, Lizzie. A 32A."

Lizzie grins at me, a wide and nervous grin, then turns to Miranda and announces, "Isn't that amazing? I'm a 32A. Gordo figured it out!"

Miranda glances suspiciously from me to Lizzie, and back to me. Giving me her now customary glare, and in typical no-nonsense Miranda fashion, she says, "It looks like you were feeling her up, Gordo."

"Oh! No!" both Lizzie and I proclaim at the same time. Then, "No, no, no!"

"Well…whatever…." Miranda says, still sounding unconvinced. "So can we go try on some stuff now, Lizzie? I got some cool pants---"

"Oh, sure!" Lizzie exclaims. "I'm ready! Let me just find a few bras to bring in. Now that I know my _size_…."

She begins again to peruse the racks, glancing up at me once with an embarrassed grin.

"You should go now," Miranda says to me, giving me the evil eye. "We don't need you anymore, Gordo."

"Don't be that way to Gordo!" Lizzie cries. "He's been very helpful!"

"I'll bet!" Miranda smirks. "But who is he helping? You? Or himself?"

"Well, he…he could help you. If you would let him."

"No thank you," Miranda says. "I'm not giving it away for free."

"Miranda!" Lizzie exclaims indignantly.

"Lizzie, if you let a boy feel you up when you are only thirteen, what are you going to be like when you are seventeen…eighteen? What kind of slut are you going to turn out to be?"

Lizzie gasps again, more loudly than she has yet. "Miranda!"

I can tell there's going to be an argument, and I don't want to be around for that. Some guys like a cat fight, but I'm not wired that way. So I beat a hasty retreat, not feeling safe until I reach the bottom of the escalator.

And its not until I reach the bottom of the escalator, and feel completely safe once again from the wrath of Miranda, that I am at last able to think about what has just happened.

What the hell was all that about? I can't believe I did that. I can't believe what just happened. Lizzie McGuire's lovely breasts in my hands, my throbbing manhood pressed against her sweet ass…

I can't stand up any more. I need to sit down. I am near the shoe department, so I take a seat and catch my breath. Oh my God….have I gone to an alternate reality? What is happening to me? Why do I feel so strange? My head is still spinning. This is not right, this can't be real.

I wait for my heart to stop beating so madly. Damn caffeine! I feel like I'm going to pass out. But is it the caffeine, or is it the realization of what has just happened? Only an hour ago I was standing in the McGuire kitchen embarrassed beyond belief because Lizzie had screamed "I…want…A BRA!" and now I have all but accosted her in a public place.

Something is wrong with the world. This is not me. This can't be happening. Suddenly I don't feel so good. I need…something. What do I need?

Time passes. I don't know how much time. I'm still sitting in the chair in the shoe department when the old lady who works there taps me on the shoulder and says, "Are you alright, sonny?"

I look at her, confused. Where am I? Have I been sleeping? What is going on?

"I…I…" I stutter. Damn, I am too young to be having a stroke. Maybe I'm just losing my mind.

"You don't look well," the old lady observes. "Can I get you something, sweetie? A drink of water, maybe?"

"A drink…" I mutter, then loudly, "Yes! A drink! But not water. I need….I need…."

All at once I am craving the rest of that Double Trouble Blueberry Bubble. Where the hell is it? Where did I leave it? I have to have some! I'm going to die if I can't have some.

"Garter belts!" I yell.

The old lady stands back, as if recoiling from a snake or…or a crazy person.

"Garter belts," I say more quietly, giving her a sheepish grin. "Sorry. And thanks. I'll be okay. I just need…."

"Garter belts?" she says in astonishment.

I head out of the shoe department, making a bee- line for the escalator once again. All I can think of is my blueberry refreshment. I need it so bad. What is this all about? I am craving it as I have never craved anything….

And yet, as the escalator ascends, my thoughts ascend as well, away from the blueberry drink, to something else that I crave. Lizzie. Oh, man. I crave Lizzie as I never have before. Lizzie, Lizzie. I need Lizzie. I need to put my hands all over her body again. So as I'm ascending on the escalator, I don't know which I need more, my blueberry drink, or to once again see and touch Lizzie McGuire.

I return to the scene of the crime. The girls do not seem to be there, in fact nobody is there at the moment, but I spy my Double Trouble Blueberry Bubble among the garter belts and grab it immediately, sucking down the melting goodness to the very bottom of the cup. I am making those slurpy noises with my straw, feeling the sudden rush, and thanking the sugar and caffeine gods for all their kindness to the human race, when I begin to hear voices.

Okay, now it's official. I'm hearing voices. I'm going crazy. It's all over for me

I stand still a moment, my eyes closed, resigning myself to my fate, when all at once I realize that these voices are not in my head, they are in the nearby try-on rooms.

"I didn't like those either," Miranda is saying. "Not sexy enough. But I saw something in black leather. I'm going to get it. Be right back. How are you doing?"

"Oooh! I'm doing good!" Lizzie squeals from the other try-on room

Well, the cat fight either never happened, or it's over. The girls seem to be getting along splendidly now.

"You should see what I've got on!" Lizzie exclaims from behind the curtain. "These jeans are…well, talk about sexy! And this bra! I feel so….so…."

"I know!" Miranda exclaims, and I see her come out of her try-on room. "Can I peek?" she asks, standing in front of Lizzie's curtain.

"Peek away!" Lizzie sings from behind the curtain, and Miranda looks in and says, "Oh my God, Lizzie! Look at you!"

"I know!" Lizzie cries. "Who knew I could look like this? I'm Lizzie, Warrior Princess!"

"You are," Miranda supplies, approvingly. "You have to buy that bra."

"My mother will never approve!"

"I don't care. You have to buy it!"

"Well….I don't know. Let me think about it."

"And those jeans…."

"She won't let me wear these," Lizzie says. "That much I'm sure of."

"Lizzie, you look like…like _sex _itself."

Lizzie giggles. "I know," she agrees. "Go! Go, get your leather pants! I just want to look at myself in this outfit a little before I have to put it back."

"Don't put it back!" Miranda insists. "I'm telling you!"

"Miranda, go!"

"Okay, okay!"

I've been standing to the side, watching and listening, and now I see Miranda leave, and I know Lizzie is alone in that try-on room, wearing some incredibly sexy jeans and bra and I know for a fact I am going to die if I can't see her. There is no way on earth I can stop myself from what I am about to do.

Miranda has left. There is nobody else around. I can hear Lizzie in the try-on room, behind the curtain, singing softly to herself. I approach, stealthily, like a wolf about to devour his prey, the innocent little lamb.

But when I get to the try-on room and peek through the side of the curtain, I see that Lizzie is no lamb, and I realize that I am no wolf. I am a boy, a silly boy, but she is a woman, and the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen.

Now I know I am crazy. At the very least I am in an alternate reality. Lizzie has grown and matured. She is not the thirteen year old girl I know and love. She is a woman now, at least five inches taller. Her back is to me, and I see her hips swaying this way and that in a pair of tight, hip hugging blue jeans which are exactly molded to her perfectly rounded rear.

I can't tell at first if she is wearing a bra at all, because her blonde hair is hanging down to the small of her back, obscuring any straps. But she sways some more, still singing sweetly, and now I see in the mirror in front of her that she is wearing the sexiest white lace pushup I have ever seen. But this bra cannot possibly be the 32A I measured Lizzie for earlier. She has grown, she has swelled, we are talking a B cup, maybe a C, and cleavage….lots and lots of cleavage….

I moan, observing her cleavage, and suddenly Lizzie hears me and spins around.

"Gordo!"

Okay, what's happening here? This is not Lizzie. Well, it is, but it's not. It's Lizzie, maybe seventeen, maybe eighteen….and absolutely….gorgeous…

She smiles at me from under a long tuft of blonde hair hanging over one eye. She bats her dark black eyelashes at me, and her tongue peeks out from behind her glossy pink lips. Then her hands travel down her smooth, undulating torso, playing briefly around her belly button before her fingers dip into the waistband of those hip hugger jeans. She pushes her breasts out at me, and smiles some more.

"Gordo…" she says again quietly, happily….seductively.

I am speechless.

I feel like I can't even breathe, never mind speak. I don't get it. What is happening? No, never mind what is happening. This is not the time to ask questions. This is the time to get lost in the moment, and in the image of the beautiful, mature Lizzie.

I know my mouth is gaping, and I can't help it and I don't care. My head is spinning, and the only reason why I want it to stop is so that I can see her more clearly. My vision stabilizes enough that now I can see her, but my eyes don't know where to look first. She is holding my gaze with her one eye, but my eyes are so tempted to travel down to her breasts, her cleavage, her creamy white skin, all the way down to her perfect belly.

Lizzie continues to play with her fingers just inside the top of these low cut blue jeans, and as I watch her tease me by running her fingers up and down the zipper, I feel my own zipper teasing me, daring me to undo the lock and set loose the monster inside.

But Lizzie beats me to it. Suddenly her hands leave her own body and reach out for mine, grabbing me by the shirt, and yanking me into the try-on room with her. She slams me against the wall and is instantly upon me, her mouth devouring mine, her one hand traveling up my crotch, squeezing me through the heavy material of my pants, while her other hand finds my hand and places it firmly on her breast, demanding that I squeeze her with equal urgency.

Now I'm dying. My knees are giving way. Who knew Lizzie McGuire would turn out to be such a hot babe? Well, I always suspected it, I always hoped it, but this…this is better than even my wildest dreams.

And as soon as I think that, the moment is gone. Of course this is a dream! Or something like it. I can feel Lizzie's tongue deep inside my mouth, and then I feel myself crumpling to the floor, but that's the last thing I feel before I pass out.

And then….strangely…the next thing I feel is Lizzie's tongue again, though this time not quite so deep inside my mouth. But her lips are over mine, and she's breathing into me, giving me the Breath of Life. Then I feel her stop, and her hands are on me again, on my chest, pumping my chest, and I hear her crying, "Oh, Gordo! Wake up! Wake up!"

I open my eyes and I feel very strange. I am on the floor and Lizzie and Miranda are leaning over me. But it's regular Lizzie once again, normal Lizzie.

"He's awake!" Miranda exclaims. "He's alive!"

I scowl. "Of course I'm alive."

Lizzie squeals and leans down to hug me. "Oh Gordo, Gordo! You had us so worried! What happened to you?"

"I…I ….I really don't know," I say, sitting up. I shake my head and feel the cobwebs beginning to dissipate. I'm shaking, I'm sweating.

"Look at you!" Lizzie cries. "Look at your skin! You're covered in hives!"

"Hives?"

"It's this!" Miranda says accusingly, bringing forward the Blueberry Bubble cup, which is now completely drained.

Lizzie gasps. "Oh my God, Gordo! Is this what I think it is? This isn't one of those blueberry thingys, is it?"

"So?"

"So! You're freaking allergic to blueberries, you moron! What were you thinking?"

Oh yeah….

My mind catches up with me. Allergic to blueberries. Hives, dizziness, passing out. Now I remember. Hallucinations too? Perhaps….

"I guess…I guess I wasn't thinking…." I say apologetically.

"I'll say you weren't!" Lizzie scolds. "What were you thinking about instead that was so important that you forgot you were allergic to blueberries?"

I look at Lizzie's face, all full of concern for me, then I glance down momentarily at her blue top, then back at her face. Her eyes are imploring me. I blush.

"I'm sorry," I say.

"You should be!" she returns, giving me a small slap. "Why would you go and worry me like that? I love you, Gordo! I don't want anything bad to happen to you!"

I feel my eyes getting really big. "You…you love me?" I squeak out.

Now it's Lizzie's turn to blush. "Well…sure. Of course! What did you think? You're my very best friend. Well, my very best _guy_ friend," she adds, glancing up at Miranda.

"And you…you're my…you are." I know it doesn't make sense, but the smile on Lizzie's face tells me she understands.

"Come on," she says, standing up and pulling me to my feet. "Can't leave you alone for a minute, can I?"

"No, you can't," I agree. "Please don't." And then I feel overwhelmed by a desire to reach out and take Lizzie McGuire into my arms, and hug her. So I do. And this time, it has nothing to do with trying to cop a feel.

I'm hugging Lizzie, unwilling to let go, it seems like a very, very long time, but at last I open my eyes, and what do I see? Oh my God. Garter belts.

"Uh…Lizzie…."

"What, Gordo?"

"We're…we're in the lingerie department."

"Yes, we are," Lizzie says, ever so sweetly.

I let her go, pull away, smile, and take a step back.

"I…uh…I have to go home and do something…" I say, walking backwards, knocking over a mannequin as I all but begin to run away.

"Anything!" I add, bringing to the mannequin to its feet, adjusting the straps of her see-thru negligee. I offer an apologetic grin to both Miranda and Lizzie as I fiddle with the transparent panties.

"Anything," I say miserably, as I bolt from the scene. "Anything…anything but this!"

THE END


End file.
